


Companies,Clubs and Cliques, or, A Party of Special Magnificence

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8799781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Beleg sneaks away to Mereth Aderthad





	

Companies, clubs and cliques. or, A Party of Special Magnificence.

  
Mablung looked at the exhausted youngster with sympathy 'The cave is in this ravine, we shall soon be warm and dry.'

 Beleg managed a smile, but he was delighted that the journey was almost over. It was his first expedition as a scout, and he was finding that standing still was as arduous as racing from tree to tree. The difficulty of simultaneously moving at speed and remaining silent was greater than he had expected. But Mablung had nodded approval, and Beleg felt his face warm with pride, with any luck, he should succeed as a scout. He saw no sign of the ravine, though the noisy waters of the Teiglin had filled the air for some time. The forest was thick, dense leaves above and almost impenetrable undergrowth made the waning moonlight barely visible. The birds had long since fallen silent, and the summer air was sweet with night-flowers. Mablung held up his hand and stopped. Beleg looked past his shoulder, the forest spilled over the edge of the precipitous cliff, ferns and rock-flowers grew on every crack of ledge, and thick moss rose up the sides like a green tide. The cliff was only a few fathoms high, but the ravine was so narrow that it seemed deeper. The vigorous water foamed over the grey rocks in the shallow river below.  
Suddenly Mablung stepped back under a tree, and pulled Beleg with him. He pointed silently, and Beleg saw a faint gleam of light from the cliffside almost under their feet. 'Someone is in the cave, that is firelight.' Mablung breathed into Beleg's ear. Beleg nodded. 'Wait here.' said Mablung, and withdrew into the shadows.

 Several anxious minutes passed, in which Beleg wondered what his chances were of finding his way home alone, never mind surviving the journey. Mablung reappeared, smiling, and said 'This way.' 

  
 They eased sideways down a tiny ledge and around a boulder that they had to cling to with both hands to get their legs past, onto a narrow shelf leading back into the cave from which the now-friendly firelight glowed. Mablung ducked under the low, narrow entrance into a long wedge-shaped cave, with a small fire burning merrily on a hearth of stones built on a low irregular shelf formed in the primal folding of the world. Two well-dressed Elves were rising to greet them.

 Mablung gestured to Beleg 'This is my companion, Beleg. Beleg, this is the lord Finrod, son of Finarfin, Lord of West Beleriand, and his friend Vardamir. ' Beleg bowed but could not speak. Actual Noldor ! From Valinor ! He was awed. Finrod's face was fair, his hair golden yellow, his shining eyes joyful, his radiance enhanced the very firelight. Beleg felt scrawny and unhealthy by contrast; even Vardamir, who was serving wine to Finrod and his unexpected guests, looked like a mighty king next to the Sindar Mablung. Suddenly Beleg knew why the Noldor called them 'grey'. Not so much faded as unlit...

  
 When they had tasted the wine and scrutinised each other, Finrod spoke. 'I am delighted to meet you both, it was my purpose to convey a message to your lord, and you will be perfect ambassadors.' He nodded at Vardamir, who searched in a satchel and gave a thick, ornate scroll, with wax seals holding gold ribbons shut.                

  Finrod bowed to Mablung and presented the scroll to him. Mablung carefully wrapped it and packed it away in his knapsack.

 Finrod smiled 'Now that the formalities have been observed, let me invite you in person to Mereth Aderthad, at Eithel Ivrin, at New Year next spring. All are welcome by the grace of Fingolfin, High King. ' Mablung raised his eyebrows.

 Beleg gaped and said 'All ?'

 Finrod smiled merrily 'Every Elf in Beleriand is invited. Fingolfin hopes to ease tensions for the good of all, and to make common cause against our common Enemy. '   
He smiled again and said 'I hope that you will both come ? Fingolfin is already moving supplies to the caves above the springs,' he turned to Mablung 'Do you know the place ?'

 Mablung nodded 'Yes my lord, Eithel Ivrin is very beautiful, especially in spring when the blossom fills the air and floats in the pools.'

 Finrod smiled at Vardamir 'The poetry of the Sindar, which shines forth in their daily speech...' he said, and Beleg felt sure he was quoting something. But Vardamir was refilling their cups with a wine far superior to anything Beleg had ever tasted. It was deep red, the taste of the grape enhanced by brewing, with something more subtle, woodsmoke in twilight summer fields, a wistful fragrance for the tender nostalgia of youth.

 Mablung looked directly at Finrod 'Sire, I'm not sure how to say this, but King Elwë, that we call Thingol, will not like this. Not any of it. He does not like Fingolfin calling himself High King, he does not like strangers, he does not like to travel himself and he does not permit his people to travel beyond his borders. He will not welcome this missive, or this news.'

 Finrod sighed and bowed his head 'Alas, I feared it would be so. Nevertheless, deliver the invitation, not only to your King, but to all your people. Perhaps you can warm his heart. At the very least, whet his appetite. Tell him how much our peoples have to learn from each other, the songs we should share, the stories, plays, poems, art, crafts, skills and techniques we can exchange. Our cultures can only be enriched by coming together.' He smiled warmly at Beleg and raised his cup 'A song !' he cried, then frowned for a moment, and in a true, clear voice sang 

  
   "I sing now of tall Beleg  
Who stalks the orcs on long lithe legs  
When orc and night at last are still  
He eats and drinks and sings his fill. "

  
 They laughed, and Beleg blushed and curled his legs under him, which made them laugh even more.    

 Finrod turned to Mablung's smiling face and said 'Would it please you dine with us now, my friend ? My task is accomplished and it is but the first day of my journey, yet here I have supplies for many days, will you help us to lighten the load ?'

 Mablung nodded cheerfully, and looked around the cave 'This secluded cave speaks to me of future meetings, emergency supplies, a meeting place... A base, in point of fact.'

 Finrod nodded slowly, 'Your words are wise, and your mood, I see, matches my own. We shall speak more of this. But first, Vardamir, some comfort for our guests, ' he patted his stomach and grinned ruefully 'and for me; it has been a long day!'

  
 Vardamir unpacked the large woven basket onto the richly-embroidered cloth by the fireplace. There were soft white rolls of strange shape, some with seeds or herbs, there were little flaky pies, small cakes of all kinds, with fruits, spices, and nuts, a rich mushroom pate, a bright salad with a smooth dressing; Beleg's mouth watered. Finrod, laughing, insisted Beleg sample each of the new dishes.

 Finally even Beleg could eat no more. Vardamir filled their cups, then leaned against the side of the cave and half-closed his eyes.

 Finrod sat up straight and addressed Mablung. 'My friend, since we seem to be in accord, I would share my thoughts with you. For some time I too have been considering the founding of 'bases', ' he gestured around him ' as this cave... But at present my interest is north of here, in Brithiach.'

 Mablung nodded 'At the ford.'

 'Just so. There is level ground by the forest edge, a stream issues forth there. It is my intention to build an inn at that place, to staff it with two of my scouts who have recently married, and to use it, as you say, as a base. It is within striking distance of Thingol's northern borders, but not so close as to ' Finrod paused for half a breath 'disturb him. There we can exchange news, or indeed messages.' Mablung nodded 'And never leave the cover of the trees.'

 Finrod raised his cup, and Mablung said 'To you, my lord, I hope your inn, and your feast are the success they deserve to be.'

 

  
***************************************************************************************

 

 Daeron, his face white with rage, his jaws clenched painfully tightly, entered the tavern. Concerned friends hurried towards him. He held up his hand

 'A drink, in the name of Eru !' Swiftly wine was poured, and swiftly he drank.

 'Nobody.' he said flatly. Around him, every elf in the tavern rose to their feet, all talking or shouting at once. 

 Daeron blinked, it was like a breaking wave on a stormy shore, uproar... the people, and the sound, surging like the sea. He raised his hands, gradually there was silence.

 'I asked that we at least be permitted to send representatives, two from each club, but no, he would not allow even one.'. He put his hands in front of his face and dragged them down, a face of utter exhaustion. 'We are permitted, to choose from among ourselves, one solitary individual, to represent the entirety of our ancient and diverse culture. Mablung will accompany the chosen one. Not one single other Elf of Doriath will be permitted to attend this great concourse, this seminar of seminars, this symposium. ' He sat down heavily and buried his face in his goblet.

 There was a shocked silence. 

  
 Daeron thought of water in a standing pool, gradually rotting and stagnating, filling with dead leaves and dust, until the pool is no more...

 A young, eager voice said 'I propose we send Daeron to Mereth Aderthad, its time he learned some new songs !'

 The laughter broke the tension but did not alter the grim fact. They were now in isolation from the rest of Elvendom on earth. They were cut off.

 The leader of the architect's club looked at Daeron in despair 'But Daeron, my dear friend, you can hardly draw a straight line, there will be much to convey for which an image is essential, and furthermore you will not know which questions to ask.' He grimaced and clenched his fists.

 'Is there nothing at all that we can say or do to persuade Thingol to see reason ?' The leader of the algebraists said 'If we all went together ?' 

  
 Daeron shook his head 'I am so sorry. I finally begged audience of Melian, but she told me that nothing could sway him. I did not argue with her.' 

 

  
**************************************************************************************

 

 

 Beleg was concerned, he could see Daeron from his hiding-place in the tree, sleeping peacefully, his head resting on his satchel of precious scrolls, the choicest works of Doriath, to share with the world. But Mablung seemed to have faded away, Beleg could hear nothing, not a breath, from the deeper shadow where he had lain. A hand grabbed his ankle, he suppressed a yelp but jumped instinctively. A quiet voice from below hissed 'Got you, you little rat !'  
 

 Beleg said softly 'Mablung, it is I, Beleg ' and dropped down to stand in front of the furious Mablung

 'I know it is you, you piece of orc-filth, you've been tracking us since Doriath, but you forget that I know your footprints like my own, and' he smiled and patted Beleg on the shoulder, 'Anyone less cautious than I would have missed the one you left by the cloven rock at that last stream. By the Valar ! It has taken me all this time to find you, I'm proud of you, and proud to have been your teacher ! But come, sit with us' he looked down at the sleeping Daeron 'Sit with me, and tell me of your adventures.'

 At last Mablung looked soberly at Beleg 'So you have absconded to meet some new people? ' Beleg smiled at him with shining eyes and nodded. 'And what will you tell them when they ask for your name ?' Beleg's eyes dropped. He had been so preoccupied with the problem of getting to Mereth Aderthad, he had never considered what would happen once he had arrived. He gaped at Mablung.

 Mablung nodded, it was a grim choice; to stay silent or to utter a falsehood. He patted Beleg on the back.'

  'Naturally, it is not possible for you to remain with us at the feast. But do not concern yourself, youngster, we shall consult Finrod, he is wise and kind, he will aid you. For, though what you have done is disobedient to your lord's will, such is the doubt as to the justice and policy of that decision that I cannot but admire your spirit, in choosing wider horizons for your mind. And your courage. 'He stood up and laughed 'And your skill as a scout ! By Eru, but I have not enjoyed the chase so much for an age, and this time I was the pursued, not the hunter !'

  
 Daeron, who did not know Beleg, was annoyed and upset at first, finding him by the fire upon awakening, but soon warmed to him, particularly since he so thoroughly agreed with Mablung that isolation was foolish. But he would on no account agree to proceeding with Beleg; he had no intention of incurring the wrath of Thingol, whom he personally liked and admired.

 Finally Mablung, who had been picking up small piles of the red sand and pouring it through his fingers, looked up and spoke 'Very well, we shall continue as we have been. But I will take some of this sand, and drop it in a sheltered spot near the gathering-place. You, Beleg, shall await me there.'

 Beleg nodded. It was doubtless more than he deserved. Mablung smiled and stood, smiling at Beleg while Daeron gathered his belongings

 'I will meet you at the appointed place when the evening comes.' 

  
 The red sand stood out among the green grass by the road to Eithel Ivrin. Beleg smiled, the very dust of the road was a different colour here, a yellow-grey; he was, as ever, impressed by Mablung's skill and resourcefulness. He looked around, close by was a small stand of willows, drooping over a clear green pool. He nodded and strode across the long grass, waving aside the myriad insects hovering among the bright meadow flowers. There was an old white treetrunk, its crown rotting into the pool, on which he sat to wait for Mablung.

 As though summoned by the birdsong, the twilight came, and a lantern through the trees. Beleg withdrew beneath the branches, but Mablung hailed him cheerily 'Too late youngster, never try to hide near water, the light lingers...'

 Beleg parted the willow-fronds; Finrod was there. 

  
 Beleg stepped forward, his hand outstretched, an eager smile on his face 'My lord ! There was no need for you to come in person !'

 Finrod smiled 'What ! Not take a pleasant stroll with one old friend, to see another ? And I thought that such was the purpose of this gathering !'

 Beleg smiled wryly 'Indeed, my lord, that is why I... well...' he blushed and fell silent. But Finrod had taken his hand, shaking it warmly, and turning to Mablung

 'Very well, I shall take care of him, may the stars shine upon your merrymaking ! '

 Mablung turned to go, saying 'And may you find shelter from the rain !'

 But Finrod turned to Beleg, almost in shadow as the light faded 'I will take you to the pavilion of the sons of Fëanor; Maedhros will entertain you for my sake, for Mablung, I fear, is right to point out that you can neither give your name nor remain silent. But the sons of Fëanor take the uncanny in their stride, and will not mind a young truant like yourself.'

 Beleg followed Finrod into the loud, bright throng, dazzled by the lights, sounds, colours, smells, and the glittering multitudes, Elves of every possible kin or kind; from stately lords such as Finrod, richly clad and bejewelled, to Green Elves from the uplands of Ossiriand, keeping away from the fires, dressed only in their kilts of woven reeds, with feathers and shells for ornament. 

  
 The pavilion of the sons of Fëanor was as lavish as Beleg had anticipated, with a strange, box-like theme in its design. It looked purposive in intent; solid, precise, elegant and apt. The very ropes holding up the violet-blue and yellow canvas were threaded with shining strands of some silvery metal, which Beleg was certain were as functional as they were decorative.   
Finrod pulled aside a tent-flap and was greeted with cheers and cries of 'Finrod! Welcome !' as he led Beleg into the warm, smoky pavilion. The sons of Fëanor had arisen to greet Finrod, and turned to Beleg. Finrod put a friendly arm around Beleg's shoulder and smiled at him, then at the brethren.

 'This is a good friend of mine, a notable scout. I beg your lordships' indulgence but since he is present tonight against the will of his lord, he must remain nameless. It is my hope that you will make him welcome, not concerning yourselves with the possibly-questionable wishes of his lord.' 

  
 There was a moment of silence, Beleg could almost see the sons of Fëanor considering that Thingol was the only elf-lord to have forbidden attendance, and that therefore he himself came out of Doriath. The company resumed their seats in silence, but Maedhros stepped forward with a friendly smile

 'You are welcome, stranger ! Be sure that the praise of Finrod is praise indeed, and I would rather a smile from him than a wagonload of treasure from a lord of whose wisdom I was in doubt.' Beleg smiled and took his outstretched hand. 

  
 The musicians resumed, attendants bearing platters laden with tempting foodstuffs floated by, the company, sat at ease, resumed their discourse. Maedhros gestured Beleg to a couch, attendants offered him wine, he accepted the goblet and a delicacy and looked about him, smiling. But after a few pleasantries, the company made no further effort to include him; he did not feel slighted nor ignored, merely forgotten; for the sons of Fëanor were close-knit, jovial but terse, and their speech often referred obliquely to people and events of which he was, in any case, ignorant. Finrod had returned to the festival with a warm parting smile, but Beleg felt himself alone in the crowded pavilion as he never had in the forest.

  
 The candles melted into the haze, Beleg felt his senses reel. The spicy, unfamiliar delicacies, the lilting melodies of faraway lands, the sense of complex, vigorous cultures entirely strange to his own; the very subjects of their speech were outside his ken. Finally he rose, nodded at Maedhros and backed away, slipping silently into the night.

 Out in the sparkling air, where the rising heat of the festival mingled with the cool stillness of the falling night, the festival was aroar; great bonfires coloured the thin cloud as far as the eye could see, his ears were assailed by the oddly harmonious barrage of musics, the aromas of hot food tantalised his nostrils and beneath his feet the damp of the flattened grass tussocks shifted his balance.   
He sighed, wishing that Melian had been able to reason with Thingol, wishing that Thingol had seen that unity was the only hope of the Elves, wishing that the artists, writers and musicians could experience all this around him, and wishing that his friends were with him. There were folding canvas chairs scattered on the grass, and he sat, stretching his long legs and looking up at the stars twinkling through gaps in the cloud wisps.

  
 Maglor's voice brought him to his feet 'I fear that we bore you, nameless one, but you must forgive us, for the wine has flowed freely, and in our enthusiasm, or perhaps in our cups, we forget our manners, and neglect a guest brought to us by our beloved cousin Finrod.' Maglor burped with a hand over his mouth then grinned at Beleg and leaned forwards conspiratorially 'The truth is, they mean well, but really, its easy to get carried away and forget that a stranger might not know what you are talking about. ' He smiled at Beleg 'You are welcome, whatever your name is, come back inside and feast with us, and soon we shall forget that we do not know who you are, and you will forget to care ! Besides ' he paused to take a drink from his goblet 'It is not clear to me how someone from Doriath, oops, can complain about other peoples' cliques.'

 

 


End file.
